


My Gift is My Song (And This One’s For You)

by roonilxwazlib



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Build up, Derek is shocked, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt!Derek, M/M, Mentions of Claudia - Freeform, Singing, Some angst, Stiles can sing!, like really well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roonilxwazlib/pseuds/roonilxwazlib
Summary: Five times Derek appreciated Stiles (shockingly) amazing singing voice + 1 time he sang with him."In the quiet, Derek can fully appreciate Stiles’ voice. He’s good. Really good. Shockingly, amazingly good. With no other music, no driving, no other distraction, he’s almost entranced. Stiles sings so smoothly, without any effort, hitting notes left and right without wavering or faltering. His tone is warm and bright and Derek feels as though he can melt into it.“Are you still mine?” The last word drags out, with some vibrato at the end.“Done with the chicken?” He asks then, turning to Derek with his usual cheeky grin. Derek stares, realizes he’s staring, looks down, and then wordlessly hands him the cut pieces.“Thanks!” Stiles says brightly, oblivious, and puts it in the oven."





	My Gift is My Song (And This One’s For You)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first teen wolf fic so thanks for reading! only proofread it once, and not beta read, so sorry for any errors! if there's anything dramatically wrong, please point it out to me! thank you again for reading!

1\. 

“It’s not that every plan you make is bad,” Stiles says, sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro with his feet up on the dash, “It’s just that most of them are. And they end in a lot of pain. Sometimes death. Okay, a lot of the time death. But it’s like I said! Just leave it to me.”

Derek scowls and reaches over the console to knock Stiles’ feet down, ignoring his indignant “Hey!” and accompanying glare.

With a dramatic sigh, Stiles turns his attention to the radio, mindlessly flipping through the stations.

“It’s just that these hunters aren’t Argent,” he continues. Derek’s iron grip on the wheel somehow tightens, making his knuckles turn white. “We don’t know what they’re doing, what they want, whether they’re willing to even negotiate anything--”

“You think I don’t know that, Stiles?” 

Stiles shrugs, changing the station again.

“We still need a plan. A course of action. A road map. A GPS coordinate destination on the journey to not-death, if you will.”

Derek sighs. He knows, though he loathes to admit, Stiles is right. And not just about having a plan, but about how spectacularly bad Derek is at planning. He hates Stiles for it a little bit, hates how fast his mind works and how quick he is to jump into action. Stiles is an idiot, Derek’s always thought so. A genius, but an idiot. An idiot who runs into the thick of it without thought for himself, for his father, for Scott. For anyone.

“Remind me why I’m driving you home?” Derek asks.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I was just telling you! You need me, buddaroo, whether you like it or not. Which we both know is ‘not’. But either way! You need me because I can make plans and you know I can make plans and I honestly thought we were finished with this pretending to hate each other thing in junior year.”

“Maybe you’re pretending,” Derek grumbles. Stiles mock gasps, slapping a hand to his chest in offense.

“I’ll have you know,” Stiles begins, but immediately cuts himself off with a very real gasp. His hand flies from changing the stations to raising the volume. Derek is suddenly engulfed from every direction in noise. All he wants to do is cover his ears, curl into a ball, maybe kill Stiles, but he’s driving, dammit.

“Stiles!” He nearly roars over the sound.

“Sorry, sorry!” Derek hears Stiles say vaguely behind the music before it’s turned dramatically lower, but still too loud for Derek’s ears. “I love this song! Singing now, planning later.”

Whatever. Derek’s eardrums will heal eventually.

“Baby, it’s you!” Stiles begins singing with the female voice-- who Derek can now recognize as Beyonce-- in a surprisingly… fine voice.

“You’re the one I love, you’re the one I need, you’re the only one I see,” Stiles continues passionately, dancing a little back and forth in the passenger seat. The song keeps playing obnoxiously loud and Stiles keeps swaying, keeps singing in an extremely pleasant voice. Not fine, pleasant. Actually, Derek considers, he has a good voice. A nice tenor. He harmonizes with Beyonce’s voice instead of trying to mimic it. Derek’s shocked, mouth agape and staring.

He sits silently and finds himself tuning out the song itself to listen to Stiles. Who would’ve thought that Stiles could sing, and not just well, but really well. He sings until the end, his dancing getting more dramatic and less coordinated as the song escalates, though his voice never falters.

The song ends and Stiles turns down the volume all the way. He smiles sheepishly at Derek.

“I love that song,” he explains. Derek nods, unwilling to admit that he liked listening to him sing. They sit quietly as another song plays softly, one that Derek can’t recognize.

Eventually, they pull up to the Stilinski house. Stiles thanks him and hops out ungracefully. He fumbles with the keys to his house until he manages to open the door. With a final wave, the door shuts behind him and Derek is left with alone with an uncomfortable silence.

He turns up the radio and drives to his apartment that he recently started to rent. He turns off the radio after a song, unsatisfied.

 

 

2.

Derek is sitting on Stiles’ bed and fiddling with his thumbs. Derek had come over to talk more about the hunters; they left another warning, this time by Scott’s house. All they had was a bullet casing and the weird markings they’ve been leaving on trees near werewolf properties. 

Sheriff had come home early, exhausted. Derek heard his car pull up and was tempted to hide outside the house until the coast was clear, like he used to. He couldn’t anymore.

Sheriff took one look at Derek, moved his gaze to Stiles, then sighed. He took Stiles outside and they had been talking since. And Derek was not above eavesdropping.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Derek heard Stiles’ father say to him.

“I won’t,” Stiles promises, “Scott will protect me. Derek won’t let me get hurt.”

Derek’s heart beats a little harder at hearing that. He doesn’t examine why.

Sheriff sighs again. “At least invite him over for dinner. You’re cooking tonight.”

“Deal,” Stiles says. Derek hears his footsteps moving closer to the bedroom door.

“You heard all that, right?” Stiles asks, flopping down on his bed next to Derek, completely spent. Derek nods.

Stiles nods back. “Good,” he says while rolling to his side to look at him, “Come help me with dinner.”

He gets up then and starts bounding down the stairs. Derek looks after him, noticing the dark circles under his whiskey eyes and the way his t-shirt pulls taut across his shoulders blades. Stiles has grown, Derek notes, his shoulders are broad and his waist is narrow. He has biceps and forearms and calves.

Derek hates to think of why he’s gotten so strong.

He follows Stiles’ downstairs, his eyes avoiding the Sheriff’s.

They reach the kitchen and Stiles claps his hands together, smiling a little too wide.

“Chicken, rice, broccoli. Easy enough, sound good?” He asks, already delving into the fridge to pull chicken out.

“Yes.”

Stiles throws the chicken at him. Derek catches it with ease.

“A man of many words,” he says, digging around the freezer for frozen broccoli. “Cut the chicken, come on, you know what to do. I don’t actually think you only eat small woodland creatures raw. At least not all the time.”

“Only during the full moon,” Derek confirms seriously, taking out a knife. “Any other time requires a ritual: you need a unicorn hair, the blood of a virgin, and the finest barbecue sauce Stop and Shop has.”

Stiles stares at him, a genuine smile blooming over his lips.

“He can joke,” he says, turning back to the stove to set up the rice. Derek rolls his eyes.

In a comfortable silence, they prepare dinner separately, each doing their own tasks. Stiles comes over to Derek at one point, humming as he gently takes Derek’s hand in his own, showing him manually to cut the chicken a bit thinner. He keeps humming and turns away, his touch leaving a burning imprint on Derek’s hand. Derek swallows.

“Oh, my love, my darling,” Stiles begins singing very softly, almost inaudibly, even to Derek’s werewolf senses, “I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time.”

Derek freezes. Stiles is calmly putting rice in the pot and setting the heat, seemingly unaware of his own singing. His volume rises gradually. Derek keeps cutting the chicken, how Stiles showed him, in silence.

“And time goes by so slowly,” he continues, louder with each word until he’s singing at a normal talking volume, “And time can do so much.”

In the quiet, Derek can fully appreciate Stiles’ voice. He’s good. Really good. Shockingly, amazingly good. With no other music, no driving, no other distraction, he’s almost entranced. Stiles sings so smoothly, without any effort, hitting notes left and right without wavering or faltering. His tone is warm and bright and Derek feels as though he can melt into it.

“Are you still mine?” The last word drags out, with some vibrato at the end.

“Done with the chicken?” He asks then, turning to Derek with his usual cheeky grin. Derek stares, realizes he’s staring, looks down, and then wordlessly hands him the cut pieces.

“Thanks!” Stiles says brightly, oblivious, and puts it in the oven. He looks at everything cooking and nods, satisfied. 

“Let’s go back upstairs until this is done, there’s something with the symbol that I wanna show you.” Stiles is back up the stairs before Derek can respond. He walks after him, slower.

“His mom loved that song,” the Sheriff says from the couch. Derek looks at him from the stairs. “Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. Old song. It was in a movie she loved.”

The Sheriff looks off for a second.

“I haven’t heard him sing it in years.”

Derek, not knowing what to say, says nothing. He pauses, looking between the Sheriff and the top of the stairs. He can still feel Stiles’ fingers grabbing his own around the knife.

He nods at the Sheriff. The Sheriff nods back.

“Call me Noah,” he says and then turns back to his newspaper.

Derek goes upstairs without responding.

 

3.

The next week Derek shows up at Stiles’ window, as he does every few days. It’s to exchange information, Derek tells himself. Which isn’t untrue, but isn’t exactly entirely true either. Today it did happen to be true, however; the hunters-- there were three of them, that Derek knew-- made their way onto his territory. They left another symbol of warning, but this time, it came in the form of a dead coyote on his doorstep. Upon closer inspection, it was just a coyote, and not a were-coyote, thank God.

Something makes him stop before he enters, though. He normally slides in easily, undetected and quiet. Scaring Stiles doesn’t really ever get old: the way his heart rate spikes, or how his skin immediately becomes clammy in a sheen of sweat, the way he rambles or how his face flushes all the way down his neck, down his shirt.

He peeks in the window. Stiles is laying on his bed in his pajamas, holding something that Derek can’t make out. Weird, considering that every time Derek comes, Stiles is always sitting at his desk and typing furiously-- whether it be a game he’s playing, homework, or research for Derek.

What makes Derek’s heart jump into his throat is the fact that Stiles is singing again, very softly and quietly. He sounds tired and sad and it takes all of Derek’s willpower to not burst through the glass and demand, not ask, what hurt him.

“I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue,” he sings, looking at the object in his hand, “and I’d go crawling down the avenue.”

His voice catches on the last line and Derek uncomfortably knows that Stiles is crying.  
Derek watches Stiles place the object on the pillow next to his head.

“No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do,” he finishes, closing his eyes, “to make you feel my love.”

Once he’s sure Stiles is asleep, once he can hear his heart and breathing even out into steady paces, Derek comes in, landing on silent feet. He pads over to Stiles’ bed, his own heart aching at the sight of dry tear marks on his cheeks. Next to his face is a picture of a woman. She has long brown hair, a beautiful smile, and a familiar upturned nose.

Stiles’ voice and song rings in his head.

He pulls up Stiles’ blanket over him, tucking him in gently. In his sleep, Stiles curls into Derek’s touch. Derek almost doesn’t want to leave.

But he does. He turns off Stiles’ light and leaves the way he came. 

He could talk to him tomorrow.

 

4.

Derek doesn’t go to Stiles’ the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Derek returned to his apartment the other night to see an arrow sticking out of his door. Fangs and claws out, he edged his way inside. His entire apartment was ransacked: furniture broken and pushed over, windows and mirrors broken, his coffee table crushed into pieces.

So much for his security deposit.

On his pillow is a note neatly folded. The message is typed: “Leave or die. We have no code. Your human is as repulsive as you.”

Derek growls.

He calls Scott, tells him what he knows, and asks that he tell everyone, but doesn’t tell Stiles. He’s not involving him anymore.

“Stiles won’t like that, you know,” Scott tells him, but doesn’t protest.

“I know,” Derek says.  
“Stiles will figure it out eventually anyway, too, you know,” Scott says.

Derek hangs up.

He spends the night fixing his apartment. The coffee table is decidedly garbage, but his couch can be salvaged. He burns the note in the sink.

It’s a week without incident. Scott keeps him updated on all the other werewolves: nothing of note. 

Another week goes by: nothing.

It’s late on a Thursday night when something happens. There’s a loud rumble of a car parking outside his building while Derek’s in bed. He thinks nothing of it until there are thunderous knocks on his door.

Derek’s on his feet in a second, making his way to the door without bothering to put on a shirt, claws out and ready. The knocking doesn’t cease.

He hears a frustrated (human) growl. Derek pauses; that sounds familiar.

“DEREK!” Stiles screams from the other side of the door. “Let me in!”

Derek sighs, retracting his claws into his hand. Stiles knocks more incessantly.

“I can do this all day until you let me in!” He yells menacingly. 

“Doesn’t mean I’ll let you in,” Derek responds neutrally.

A pause.

“I knew you were there, you son of a bitch! Let me in!” Stiles demands again.

Derek considers it.

“Nah.”

“... ‘Nah’?” Stiles repeats increduously. “‘Nah?!’”

“Nah,” Derek confirms.

Stiles pounds on the door, crying out in frustration.

“I’ll wake up all your neighbors,” he threatens.

“Knocking won’t wake them up,” Derek promises.

There’s no sound on the opposite side of the door for a moment. Derek fears he may have opened a can of worms.

He hears the beginning of a song playing then, just a few chords on a guitar, before--

“COMIN’ OUT OF MY CAGE AND I’VE BEEN DOIN’ JUST FINE GOTTA GOTTA BE DOWN BECAUSE I WANT IT ALL--”

“Stiles--”

“-- IT STARTED OUT WITH A KISS, HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS? IT WAS ONLY A KISS, IT WAS ONLY A KISS--”

“Stiles!”

He’s screaming more than singing, earsplitting and awful. Derek’s suddenly painfully aware of the grouchy woman who lived upstairs and loved to criticize anything and everything.

“JEALOUSY TURNING SAINTS INTO THE SEA--”

Derek opens the door abruptly and Stiles, quite literally, falls through. He lands flat on his face at Derek’s feet, the song still playing on his phone.

Stiles gets up quickly and dusts himself off. He clears his throat.

“I don’t appreciate being kept out of the loop, thank you very much.” 

His heart is beating rapidly and Derek can’t place why.

“I don’t appreciate your big mouth waking up everyone in my apartment building.”

Stiles mouth falls open.

“Are you serious? Are you-- you can’t be serious. You’re serious, aren’t you? Oh my God,” Stiles throws his hands up in the air, “You could’ve just, you know, let me in like a normal person!”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “And your response was that of a ‘normal person’?”

He flails again and blushes. “Well. You could’ve let me in.”  
Derek shrugs. “I don’t need to let you in on everything going on.”

Stiles’ face closes off. He reels back a bit, stung.

“No, I guess you don’t,” he says, looking at the ground. “But, you know, I thought we had a cool camaraderie thing going on? You know? Where you come into my house and we cook sometimes and I give you information and you can do whatever werewolf-y things you want with what I say?”

With a sigh, Derek backs off.

“It’s different this time. The threat’s on me.”

“So?” Stiles asks, face red and unrelenting, “I want to help, you don’t get to be a self-sacrificing-- oh, for God’s sake, I can’t do this while you’re not wearing a shirt. Please, go put on a shirt. Please.”

Derek looks down at himself and shrugs again. He goes to his bedroom and emerges again, wearing a tight black v-neck.

“That doesn’t make much of a difference, but whatever,” Stiles mumbles to himself.

“Anyway,” he begins again, “you don’t get to be a self-sacrificing idiot all the time. I want to help. I’m here to help. I’m eighteen years old now, you can’t even use that dumbass ‘you’re a kid and I don’t want you involved’ excuse anymore.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Derek interrupts. He starts to speak again, but pauses, hands clenched at his side.

“I just don’t want you hurt because of me,” he says finally, “Too many people have gotten hurt because of me.”

Stiles’ eyes soften and bore into Derek’s face. He takes a tentative step forward, reaching an arm out to grasp at Derek’s shoulder.

“If I get hurt, it’s all on me,” he says simply. “I don’t want you to get hurt when I could’ve done something to help.”

They look at each other. A breeze from an open window passes between them both.

“The hunters came here, destroyed my apartment,” Derek explains quickly, turning his eyes away.

“Is that why this place looks horrible?” Stiles asks. Derek glares. “What?”

“Yes, that’s why it looks horrible,” he replies in a clipped tone, each word individually punched out. “They left a note threatening me and… you.”

Stiles nods in understanding. “That explains why Scott’s been hovering.”

“Look, it’s late,” Derek starts, “I’ll come over and we can talk more tomorrow. Promise. Go home for now, be smart.”

“I’m always smart!”

“Be smarter, then,” Derek says snidely, though he’s betrayed by the smirk playing at his lips.

Stiles licks his lips and then mock salutes.

“Yes, O Wise Former Alpha.”

Derek chuckles softly before he can stop himself.

“Get out,” he says, and Stiles heads to the door.

“Next time you sing,” he continues, “make sure it’s actually good. I don’t know what that garbage was before.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth lifts. “It was a tool and it worked.”

“Well, we both know you can sing better than that. So no more. Please and thanks.”

Stiles blushes. Before he can respond, Derek closes the door in his face and walks back towards his bedroom.

“Rude,” he hears Stiles say to himself. Then he starts singing, the same song as before, but in his real voice, “Comin’ out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine…”

Derek smiles while he drifts off.

 

5.

 

The fight’s nearly over now.

Derek’s laying on the ground after getting pounded by wolfsbane bullets. From where he is, he can see Malia mercilessly tearing apart a hunter, the last hunter. The one that just tried to go after Stiles.

Stiles is there. Derek had warned him to stay away hours, after Derek saw an arrow sticking out of the Stilinski door. Stiles followed him to the woods, arguing the whole way, until a bullet suddenly caught itself in a tree next to Stiles’ head.

Derek had tackled him, roaring as he did to call for Scott, for anyone. The hunters advanced quickly.

They went after Stiles more than Derek thought they would have. Derek instinctively curled his own body around him, taking the extra bullet and extra beating, because he could and he knew that he could.

Derek is tired now. The fight is done. Stiles is there.

He’s fixing him, Derek knows, pressing the wolfsbane into his wounds, like he did so many years ago. So long ago. Stiles was so young then.

Derek looks up and Stiles is upset.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles keeps saying, holding Derek closer, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I know,” Derek tells him. He can’t feel his healing start yet, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared.

“You’re so stupid,” Stiles says.

“I know.”

And Derek isn’t one for dramatic declarations of love. He’s not one to love at all. But here, laying half on the ground, half in Stiles’ arms, he think he’s coming close. Stiles’ arms tighten.

Then he feels it, the slow burn of his accelerated healing. There’s relief and then exhaustion. He looks up again, looks at Stiles and his moles and his wild hair and his whiskey eyes. He’s tired, Derek can tell. Derek’s tired too.

Stiles starts singing then, his eyes wet and his voice wavering.

“And if you have a minute, why don’t we go,” his voice cracks, “talk about it somewhere only we know?”

It’s a lullaby. Derek is surrounded by Stiles; he’s all he can feel, all he can smell and see and hear. Even in his daze, he think Stiles’ voice is as beautiful and shocking as the first time he heard it. He feels his eyes drift shut.

“This could be the end of everything,” Stiles continues, his voice sounding farther and farther away, “so why don’t we go somewhere only we know?”

 

+1.

They’re together after the hunters. It’s not really talked about by anyone, not even Stiles and Derek. But Derek starts coming in through Stiles’ window every night, not just to talk about research, but to talk about anything. They start watching movies together (“How have you never seen Star Wars, Derek? It’s Star Wars!”) and move from sitting next to each other to on top of each other.

Stiles is the first one to kiss Derek. It’s tentative and quick: just a small peck on his lips one night when he’s leaving, his body halfway through Stiles’ window.

Derek is taken aback and looks at Stiles wide-eyed and unsure. Stiles apologizes and backs up awkwardly, his hands in the air. Derek comes back fully into the room then, takes two long strides, and kisses him. He brings his hands up to hold Stiles’ head in place. Stiles’ own hands find their way down his chest and his back.

After that, they kiss all the time. They makeout lazily in the middle of movies and snuggle (yes, snuggle, Derek can admit that) in his bed. Sometimes they go out to eat and after, they go back to Derek’s apartment.

One night, while they’ll still naked and sweaty and breathing heavy and Stiles is tucked under Derek’s arm with his head resting on his chest, he hums softly.

Derek recognizes the song immediately. It was one Laura loved, one from a movie that Derek thought was bizarre-- Moulin Rouge? 

He hesitates briefly before singing along quietly, nervously to Stiles’ hum, “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words,” he hears Stiles stop humming, “how wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”

Stiles stares at him and for a second, Derek fears he made a huge mistake. Then a broad smile stretches across his face, beautiful and bright and everything Derek loves about Stiles.

He kisses Derek hard, putting his all into it, before pulling back at looking at him. There’s something in his eyes that Derek can’t quite place, something in his look.

Stiles sighs happily, content, and leans back down, resting his cheek against Derek’s chest.

He sings the rest of the song out loud, and Derek joins in when he can, when he knows the words. Mostly, Derek listens to Stiles’ enchanting voice that still surprises him when he hears it. His warm tenor that Derek feels lucky to be able to hear.

“And you can tell everybody that this is your song…”

**Author's Note:**

> based on this prompt by chinachic.tumblr.com:
> 
> "has stiles ever sang in the show
> 
> because in fic it’s pretty much canon that stiles is a terrible singer but like what if he’s not
> 
> what if he’s really good 
> 
> and he amazes everyone (but especially derek) over his killer singing and it’s not like on stage singing but like casual in the car or bored singing and wow derek just really loves the sound of stiles’ singing and get’s distracted whenever he sings and please write this"


End file.
